


breath mints

by proudlygoingnowhere



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Angst is fun, Angst?, Bullies, Depression, Gay Keith, Legendary defender, M/M, Probably a slowburn, Teen Runaways, Voltron, bi lance, both unhappy with their lives, hitchhiker Lance, i have no idea where this story will go, i might change the title later, ignorance, keith already knows who he is, keith kogane - Freeform, lance mcclain - Freeform, loosely inspired by the new netflix series The End of the Fucking World, possible open ending, sexuality arc for lance, vld
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proudlygoingnowhere/pseuds/proudlygoingnowhere
Summary: Keith is a temperamental social outcast who comes from a tragic family background. Lance is an unruly boarding school kid with zero tolerance for dickheads. The two run away from their problems and eventually cross paths, which leads to a chain of events that neither of them will ever forget.It's Lance and Keith against the world.





	1. Keith

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! new fic that i decided to write, loosely inspired by netflix's The End of the F***ing World (which btw is such a damn good show).
> 
> the story will be formatted with two people's perspectives, one being Keith's and the other Lance's. Chapter titles will indicate whose perspective is being viewed in that chapter.
> 
> Enjoy the first chapter!

Out of all the things Keith Kogane could be doing at the dead of night on a Thursday, sitting alone in a nearly-empty Denny’s parking lot happens to be one of them. 

The boy doesn’t remember why he’s there; all he can recall is his drunk father slapping him with a slotted spoon, the metal kitchen utensil fresh out of a boiling pot of water; his left cheek profound with pain, an ugly, bright-red burn mark forming where his father had struck him; running outside and stealing his father’s pickup truck; bubbling with rage as he pulled into the lot of the nearest restaurant that was outside of town limits. Everything prior to all of those events still remain hazy to Keith, since the only things eating away at his brain right now are indignation and resentment. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened. No, outbursts like these are quite regular, and every single time Keith’s remarks and defences are trampled upon by a physical or verbal blow by his father, with whom Keith lives and no one else. Their arguments drive Keith so insane to the point where he just wants to end it all. Controlling his temper has never been his strong suit, but then again, no one in his family is able to keep a level head during an argument, so it makes sense that Keith is far from an exception. 

For Keith, he seems to only have two broader emotions: fury, and feeling absolutely nothing at all. It has been this way for as long as he can remember, and to be perfectly honest with himself, he’s fine with it. 

It doesn’t seem to bother him that he’s completely isolated himself from everyone else in the world. It doesn’t really matter to him that he lacks the proper skills to truly connect with people, and instead pushes them away, unwilling to put in the effort. It doesn’t cross his mind that he’s worthy of living in this world - this stupid,  _ hateful _ world. 

Most of all, he certainly could not give two shits about his family, who are all either dead or too intoxicated to function. 

He isn’t like them. Not one bit. But he is certainly far,  _ far _ from likeable. 

Keith sighs and buries his head in his hands, contemplating what to do. He’s been at this Denny’s for nearly two hours, and has done absolutely nothing but nibble on a plate of fries and wallow in misery on the dark asphalt. He doesn’t have his watch, so he has no idea what time it is, and he doesn’t own a cell phone, so he can’t blast music for hours on end until the battery dies. Suddenly running away feels sort of pointless, and so Keith decides to just use the bathroom and then go back and face whatever state his father is in at home. 

The inside of the Denny’s is completely deserted, aside from one old woman wiping down the cash register. It’s slightly odd to see a restaurant chain so popular, with absolutely zero customers. Keith decides he likes the quiet, and savors his bathroom time in peace.

“Ya out for a late night drive?” the woman behind the counter asks Keith, as he’s buttoning up his jacket and heading out the door. The name tag on her apron says  DIANA in small, yellow letters.

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Keith says, not in the mood for any type of conversation. 

“Kinda chilly evening to be out here with jus’ a varsity coat on,” Diana remarks. Keith silently scoffs, as he remembers the time when he stole the jacket from his high school’s lost-and-found, the day after his father told him they were too poor to afford proper winter coats that year. 

“I’m not cold,” he replies stiffly, hoping she’s getting the message to leave him alone.

She isn’t.

“Why you out so late anyway?” Diana asks, her attention now fully turned on to Keith. “Dontcha got school to go to tomorrow?”

“I-I need to get far away,” he answers quickly. His tone is flat, unamused. 

Diana chuckles, which makes Keith frown. Is she making fun of him? “And what, pray tell, d’you need to get away from?”

Keith considers lying. Hardly anybody pays attention to him like this, so he can pretty much spew whatever lies he wants and get away with it. It’s not like anyone’s coming around to check the facts anyway… 

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out the truth. “My father, he’s an alcoholic. And sometimes he abuses me. And I always hurt him back.”

Diana nods, looking the boy up and down. Keith can tell she’s noticed the burn mark on his face, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she says, “I take it you don’t have many close people in your life.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Well for starters, if you did, you wouldn’t be  _ here _ , all alone, in this Denny’s,” she noted, coming around the counter to stand face-to-face with the runaway.

“How do you know I’m alone?” Keith asks cautiously, even though it’s a dumb question and he knows he’ll get a dumb answer.

“Kid, you’ve been lounging around in a near-vacant parking lot for almost two hours,” Diana says calmly. “I know a loner when I see one.”

For some reason, Keith is offended by this, and he can already feel the annoyance brewing in his stomach. “I don’t like the term ‘loner’,” he growls.

“Loner, outcast, whatever you wanna call it,” Diana continues, “I’m familiar with your type. But your label doesn’t matter, it’s how you handle yourself that counts.” She pauses. “I dunno half of what you’ve been through, but I can assure you that you’re not alone.” 

Keith slowly nods, unsure of where she is trying to go with the conversation. He takes a peek at the clock on the wall behind the register, which reads 2:30am.

Shit.

“Um, thanks for the pep talk, or whatever that was, but uh, I need to get going,” Keith says, backing towards the door. Being alone with a stranger for this long is making him uncomfortable, and he needs to get back on the road before his father wakes up suddenly and discovers his son is gone.

Diana doesn’t bother arguing, she can tell he’s a kid who needs his space. “Very well then,” she replies. “Be careful now, don’t pass out at the wheel.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And kid?”

“...Uh-huh?”

“Things will get better, it just takes time. You won’t end up loving everyone you meet, but every now and then take the time to practice some compassion. It can really go a long way, no matter who you interact with.”

Keith nods vaguely, then pushes open the door and heads back to the truck.

He gets into the vehicle and starts the engine, and only then does he notice how terrible the scar on his face has become. In the rearview mirror, he can see that it’s darker than before, and some spots are beginning to look like blown-up warts. It’s quite disgusting, but also sort of mesmerizing, and after a little while Keith convinces himself that it makes him appear a thousand times more badass. 

The journey back home is slow and painful, as there are barely anything good on the radio, and no passing cars on the street. Furthermore, Keith is growing very tired, so he does his best to stay awake and not totale his father’s truck.

It’s almost 4am when Keith pulls into the parking space in front of the trailer where he and his father live. The Kogane’s trailer is gray and chipping, with only two small bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room-slash-kitchenette, but it’s all Keith has known since he was just a baby. 

His father has always mentioned how much of a blessing it is to have the trailer, with no more than a small handful of rooms to look after and everything they need within one portable area. However, Keith absolutely despises it, and it’s the one thing in the world he hates more than himself.

Keith was born in the trailer, on a cool autumn evening under a cloudless sky. His parents had been overjoyed by their baby boy, and were eager to raise him as their own. Things were absolutely perfect until one day, Keith’s mother came home and announced she was sick. Very, very sick.

Keith was only three at the time, so he wasn’t completely aware of the situation, but he knew something was up. His mother was in and out of the hospital all the time, and his father grew more anxious and paid less and less attention to his son. When the time came for Keith to finally learn the truth, he hid in his room and cried for three days.

All too soon, his mother’s passing came and went, and any previous liveliness in Keith burned out completely. As he continued to grow up, he became more and more quiet, refusing to engage in social interaction, and only ever spoke up if he was angry about an issue and wanted some justification. Somewhere down the line he developed his fiery temper, and along with it came an endless bout of anger management issues. Keith has never seen the severity of his condition, so of course he’s never said anything to anyone. He is unable to change his ways, and he believes it’s too late for him to do so anyway.

Memories of the past - some good and many terrible - suddenly come flooding back, and before he knows it he begins to cry. His sobs are silent, sobs that hiccup in the back of his throat while his mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out. Tears drip down his face and soak his burn mark, making it sting.

After a while, Keith surrenders his strength for the day and stumbles into the dark trailer, where he collapses onto his bed, too exhausted to do anything but sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> denny's at 2am is whERE it'S aT


	2. Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't wait to post lance's first section so here ya go, plz enjoy :D (sorry if chapters are kinda short, im hoping they'll get longer as the fic goes on, i'm just tryna get some background information out atm)

Lance McClain is on the run.

This is the first time in three years he’s ever ruined boarding school property, but he’s gotta get out of there  _ now _ , before somebody catches him and sends him to the police.

It’s not like he’s  _ trying _ to get the cops called on himself. It’s just that his boarding school is so full of dickheads who cannot take No for an answer, and two months into his third year at the institution, Lances has decided enough is enough.

… so spray-painting a death threat on one of the bully’s bedroom walls signifies Enough, right?

_ On second thought, probably not _ , Lance thinks, as he sprints through the forest behind the school.  _ Someone’s bound to catch me, and then I’ll be done for. _

A million things run through Lance’s mind, just as fast as his feet are carrying him through the mass of trees. What will happen if the school manages to catch him? They’ll definitely send him home, at the very least. What if the police get involved, and they resort to using force? His only defense is his hand-made catapult and a supply of about fifteen rocks…

Lance reaches down and subconsciously touches the giant lumps in his jacket pockets. The only things he managed to smuggle out of the school were his weapon, the rocks, a flashlight, a mini plastic water bottle, and forty dollars in cash. Not so great for someone who is planning on running away and never coming back.

After several long minutes, Lance slows down and stops at the edge of the forest, his joints aching and his throat begging for water. He takes a small sip from his water bottle, and even though it isn’t enough, he wills himself to savor the liquid. There’s no telling how long it will be until he is able to find a reliable freshwater source.

Unable to keep his body moving any more, he sits down on a nearby rock and assesses his situation. A mere hour ago, he had been broken into the school’s main office supply closet to obtain a can of bright red spray paint. From there, he had snuck into a classmate’s barracks whilst they were sleeping, and defaced the wall with terrible words he never thought he would use. On his way out of the room, he accidentally knocked over the alarm clock on the nightstand, which forced him to flee the room immediately. Knowing that his classmate would snap awake at the sound of the clock clattering against the wooden floor, and realizing that the message would be discovered not long after, Lance panicked and rounded up as many of his belongings as he could carry. There was no time to return the can of spray paint, so he chucked it under his bed and sprinted towards the front gates of the school just as the alarm system went off. 

The siren was ear-shattering, and red lights flashed everywhere. Lance knew from various school drills that the school locked all of its entryways during an emergency, so he had very little time to get to the gate before it shut him in.

Lance just barely slipped through the metal exit before it closed with a final  _ clang _ . He had made it.

He was ready to get his ass off of school property when he noticed a lone security camera stationed on one of the gate posts, pointing directly at him. The light below the lens was flashing bright red, and Lance knew that he had to do something, or surrender himself and face the consequences.

_ Well fuck the consequences. _

With one swift motion, he grabbed a rock from his pocket and situated it into its spot in his catapult. Fixing his aim on the security camera, he released the rock, watching as it flew through the air and shattered the camera lens. 

The red light went off, and Lance knew he was safe.

But not for long.

Running away keeps Lance at a distance, but over time the distance isn’t good enough, as he’s quite recognizable, and the school would be able to track him down without missing a step. There’s always an end point to these circumstances, but right now Lance isn’t sure where it is or what it means for his future. 

The watch on his wrist reads 4am, which means he has about three more hours to get as far away from the school as possible before daylight. There’s nothing for him out here in this forest, so he keeps going, hoping to stumble upon a road or a house or  _ something  _ that’ll help him figure out where he is.

Eventually, Lance emerges from the greenery and discovers a tiny, two-story bed-and-breakfast. The place is in a tiny red cottage, with only two rentable rooms and a dining area downstairs. One of the rooms is already occupied, but the woman who runs the B&B lets Lance rent out the second room for twenty dollars, which covers the cost of the room and breakfast in the morning. Lance briefly contemplates just finding somewhere else to stay, since this room rental will send literally half of his money down the drain. But his body is screaming at him to rest, so he reluctantly hands over a twenty dollar bill and goes upstairs.

The bedroom at the B&B isn’t quite as sophisticated as the one at the boarding school, but it’s good enough for Lance, and reminds him of his room back home. The walls are the same shade of blue, and the comforter smells oddly like his mother’s perfume. There’s a set of mahogany drawers next to the bed, and on the drawers sits a small glass figure of a whale. He picks it up and cradles it gingerly in the palm of his hand, the faces of his two younger siblings forming in his mind. They would love this figurine - they’re obsessed with anything to do with marine life.

Lance’s mind wanders to thoughts of his family as he lays out on the bed. What are they doing now? Do they miss him? Is his father still into fishing? Have they kept his bedroom intact? Has anything gone wrong since he left at the end of the summer?

He automatically reaches into his jeans pocket to grab his phone, but when his fingers solely brush against denim, he is painfully reminded that he’d left his phone at school. He feels sweat beading on his forehead as he mulls over the downsides of not having his phone: no music, no games, no other forms of entertainment… 

However, not having a phone comes with its perks. Lance brightens up when he realizes that without a device, he’ll be harder to track, and besides, he doesn’t have room on his person for a charging cable anyway, so the phone would only do little good to him before it runs out of battery and dies forever. 

Lance continues to lay in the dark, humming to himself quietly. When his eyes finally flutter closed, and his breathing becomes hushed and steady, the morning sunlight glows through the window, casting warm, golden rays upon his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading :)
> 
> btw my social media is the following, if u wanna stalk me:
> 
> IG: @grayskyluna  
> Twitter: @P3culiarPearl


	3. Keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> keith decides he's had enough of everyone's bullshit and leaves lmao

Keith barely has enough energy to go to school in the morning, let alone drag his own body out of bed and get a bowl of cereal into his system. His father is already out at work, so Keith doesn’t have to worry about being confronted about last night. He takes a shower and throws on the darkest outfit he owns - jet-black tshirt, black hoodie, black skinny jeans, old black Vans, and his varsity jacket - and makes his way to the public high school. 

The school is the same as it’s been for the past two years Keith has been attending it, but today it seems a lot more foreign, more bleak and depressing. Moving through the halls, it occurs to Keith just how much he hates everyone here, and how much he desires to blow the place up and rid himself of this curse. Everyone seems to fit in, occupied with their own pathetic lives and friends, and constantly busy with various afternoon activities.

The people at this school are also nice -  _ way _ too nice for Keith - to the point where he deems it straight-up obnoxious. Everyone is always trying to make him talk in class, trying to get him to share his opinion on a topic that they are discussing, or prodding him to talk to them about any issues he’s having outside of school. 

Keith doesn’t want to share his opinions or personal life with the class, or with anyone. He just wants to be left alone. 

Communications class is always the worst. His teacher forces everybody to participate, no matter how much they protest, and his fellow students all happen to be goody-two-shoed suck-ups. Today they’re examining the topic of depression, which is something Keith actively goes out of his way to avoid talking about. 

“Now, can anyone tell me what depression is?” the teacher asks, writing the word on the whiteboard. 

Keith rolls his eyes and pulls his hood over his head, slowly sinking into his chair. 

“It’s when you’re really, really sad,” someone calls out. Keith takes a few deep breaths and wills himself not to strangle his classmate then and there. 

“That’s… partially correct,” the teacher says, making a note on the board. “But it’s a whole lot more than that. Can anyone else add on?”

“Depression is a mental disorder that affects people’s everyday lives, as well as how they think, act, and and feel,” another person says. 

“Exactly,” their teacher replies. “Depression is most often associated with sadness, but it manifests differently in everyone, and not everyone with this mental illness is aware that they have it.” She makes another note on the board. “There are many different types of depression, so it’s important to know the signs so that you can recognize them and rescue someone from this condition.”

Keith quietly groans. Why did the teacher have to use the word  _ rescue _ ? It makes it sound like people with depression are completely helpless. And not all mental illnesses just go away completely, they take time to control and recover from.

Of course, no one else in the room has to deal with depression, at least as far as Keith can tell. They all seem so perfectly content with themselves, they probably haven’t even thought once about jumping off a building. Keith knows it’s rash to make such sweeping assumptions, but he can’t help it. 

“Dealing with a depressed person is easy,” he overhears someone whisper to their friend. “It’s easy because depression doesn’t fucking exist!” 

His friend stifles a laugh.

At this remark, Keith bolts straight up in his chair, his hood falling from his face. “The fuck did you just say?” he snaps, glaring at the other boy. 

“Boys, is there a problem back there?” the teacher asks, her back still to the class.

Keith ignores her question and leaps up, slowly advancing towards his classmate. “What did you just say?”

“I said depression doesn’t exist,” the other boy replies, in a louder and more confident voice. “If you’re sad, get over it. Everyone’s sad, we’ve all got problems. It’s not the end of the fucking world.”

“ _ Language _ , Mr. Cooper,” the teacher scolds. 

“Depression’s more than just a day of sadness,” Keith says, his voice low. “You obviously don’t know anything about it, so shut your mouth.”

“Aw, what d’you know about it, Wednesday Addams?” Cooper sneers, rising from his seat. He crosses his arms. “Are you a depressed loner yourself?” 

There was that word again.  _ Loner _ . “Shut up shut up shut  _ up _ .”

“Mr. Kogane, what’s going on?” the teacher inquires, hands on hips. By now, the whole class is watching, and he’s been put on the spot.

Keith swallows hard, trying to come up with an answer. 

But Cooper answers first. “Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t quite sound like nothing.”

“Claiming depression doesn’t exist isn’t ‘nothing,’ you asshat,” Keith spits out. He clenches his fists so hard that he can feel his fingernails cutting into his skin. 

“Alright, let’s all calm down and discuss this,” the teacher says, signaling for the boys to sit down.

Cooper reluctantly takes a seat, but Keith remains standing. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he retorts. “Cooper is an ignorant asshole who’s never once in his life stopped to think about what other people might be going through.”

“Oh, bullshit, now you’re just making assumptions,” Cooper grunts, averting his eyes. 

“Oh, says the one who has this twisted mindset that just automatically  _ assumes _ no one in this goddamn universe has a scientifically-proven mental illness!”

The teacher frowns. “Is that what this is all about?”

Cooper chuckles, a smug grin plastered on his face. “That, and the fact that Keith is such a pussy that he can’t admit that he’s wrong.”

That does it. Keith snatches up his backpack and shoves his chair into its place so forcefully that he leaves a harsh streak on the edge of the table. “This is bullshit,” he murmurs over and over, his voice steadily raising. “This is bullshit, this is ridiculous, you’re  _ all bullshit!” _

Not caring what his punishment is, he marches over to Cooper and smacks him. Everyone in the room gasps as Keith storms out the door and slams it behind him.

School has always been beneath him, but Keith has finally been pushed over the edge, and all he wants is to leave and never have to look at the hideous building ever again. 

Keith marches all the way home, seething. He’s ready to trash his bedroom, stab everything in sight with a kitchen knife, and get all of his anger out of his system.

His plan comes to a halt when he notices his father’s pickup truck in front of the trailer.

_ It’s not even two o’clock,  _ Keith wonders, as he unlocks the trailer door.  _ Why is he even home -  _

The smell of beer hits his nose as soon as he walks into the entryway. The trailer hasn’t smelled this bad for almost two years, but the horrid scent is back, and Keith knows something isn’t right.

He finds his father in the living room, surrounded by at least a dozen beer bottles. A deck of cards is spread out on the coffee table, and a man whom Keith has never seen in his life is sitting across from his father on one of the dining room chairs. 

Keith has a pretty good guess as to what’s happening, but he asks anyway just to be sure. “What’s happening?”

“Son, this’s my friend Lenny,” his father drawls. He’s clearly had his fair share of alcohol, and even a blind person could tell that he is drunk off his ass. “He’s come t’play carrs with me.”

“So I see,” Keith says slowly.

“What about you, whyya home so early?” his father asks, reaching for a fresh bottle of beer. “They kick ya out ‘gain?”

“Nah,” Keith answers nonchalantly. He shrugs his shoulders like it’s nothing. “Somebody just said something stupid.”

His father looks up from his card game and squints. “So you tellin’ me you’ve come all th’way back here just ‘cause someone said somethin’ ya didn’t like?” 

Keith gulpes and nods. “Yessir.”

His father shakily gets to his feet and approaches his son. Meanwhile, Lenny is looking at them anxiously and realizes they need some time alone, so he excuses himself to “go out and get more beers.”

As soon as he leaves, Keith’s father cowers over him. “Get your fucking ass back to school before I hafta do it m’self.”

“No. I hate it there,” Keith replies, standing his ground. 

“You’re a teenager, i’s your job to get an education.”

“I don’t need anymore education. Eleven years is enough.”

Keith’s father places a hand on his shoulder, but it’s not a reassuring touch. It’s threatening. “Son, one of these days you’re gonna thank me.”

“Bullshit,” Keith counters. “You always say that, and every single time, you’ve been wrong.”

Pain flashes across his face as his father whacks him. Despite being drunk, the blow is incredibly unpleasant, and Keith can feel tiny spots of blood where his father’s fingernails scraped against his cheek. 

“What… the fuck?”

His father is bracing to hit him again. “You got five seconds to get the hell outta here, or I’m kicking y’out.”

Keith clenches his jaw and keeps his feet planted on the floor.

“One… two…” his father starts counting.

_ Fuck you. Fuck everything. _

“Three…”

_ I hate you I hate you I hate you I wish you were dead. _

“Four…”

The fury in Keith’s heart flares up, and he’s made a decision to just end it all.

“Fi-”

As his father is lunging at him, Keith hurls himself forward, slamming his father into the wall. His father hits his head on the metal, then collapses to the ground, knocked out cold.

“I’m sorry,” Keith mutters, as he grabs his father’s wallet from his jeans pocket. He pulls out his father’s credit card and a twenty dollar bill, then chucks the wallet and the rest of its contents under the couch.

Keith spends the following few minutes frantically gathering his belongings and packing them up into the truck. He doesn’t have quite enough room to take absolutely everything, so he chooses very carefully. Amongst the things he decides to bring include two changes of clothes, a travel-sized toothbrush kit, some snacks from the cabinet, and the lockbox his uncle had given to him years ago.

When Keith feels like he’s got everything he needs, he grabs the keys to the truck and starts the ignition. As he pulls out of the parking space, he takes in the sight of the trailer one last time. He would be lying to himself if he thinks he doesn’t feel any remorse for leaving his home, because in the back of his mind, he sort of does. It’s the only place he’s ever been able to call home, and the thought of going someplace else is mildly terrifying. 

But Keith can never forget all the horrible things that have happened here. From the extreme quarrels with his father and being locked in his room for hours on end, to the lack of proper food in the house and digging through the lost and found to find clothes that will actually fit him, it’s certainly not the type of life he’s willing to continue. 

At this point, he knows he just needs to start over. 

The trailer park grows smaller and smaller as Keith swerves down the winding dirt road. He doesn’t stop to think about what he’s doing, he just keeps his foot on the gas pedal and drives on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys have any comments/feedback about this fic, pls let me know!! <3


	4. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is officially a hitchhiker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new chapter!! i'm having a ton of fun writing this story so far, which is why there have been super frequent updates haha. 
> 
> enjoy!

Lance wakes up to the sound of the smoke alarm going off.

The sound pierces his ears, making him bolt awake, his heart racing. He throws on his jacket and races downstairs, expecting to see the entire front hall on fire, but to his relief there’s just a thin layer of smoke in the air.

Lance goes into the kitchen and sees the owner of the B&B standing by the stove, a cluster of burnt pancakes sizzling at the bottom of a frying pan. When she notices Lance standing in the doorway with his mouth wide open, she becomes frantic. “Oh, I-I didn’t know you were awake, let me, let me just -”

“Do you need any help?” Lance asks.

“Well, I think I’ve got everything handled,” she answers, her voice glazed over with a tone of false confidence. “Everything except for your breakfast, but -” She turns off the stove and looks mournfully at the pancakes before throwing them out.

“It’s okay,” Lance replies, ignoring his stomach’s longing for something warm to eat.

“I can whip you up some toast and yogurt,” the woman offers, taking things out of her fridge.

“That would be great.”

Lance wolfs down his breakfast while the B&B lady cleans up. The toast is slightly charred, but not too much, and the butter on it throws off the burnt taste anyway. He’s finishing up his strawberry yogurt when the patron of the second hotel room comes downstairs. Lance is surprised to find out that the patron is a young boy, maybe nine or ten years old, with messy blond hair and large green eyes.

“Gramma, what’s for breakfast?” the boy asks.

“Good morning, Evan,” the lady greets him, setting a glass of milk on the table. “I’ve got some toast and fruit ready for you.”

Lance finishes scraping his yogurt bowl clean and gets up to clear his dishes. As he deposits his plate and bowl into the dishwasher, he whispers to the B&B lady, “Your second guest is… a child?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Evan is my grandson. His parents are out of town and so he’s staying with me for a few weeks.”

Lance peers over his shoulder at the fair-haired boy, who is now chugging his glass of milk like there’s no tomorrow. “That’s nice.”

“Yes, it really is, he’s such good company.”

Evan somehow reminds Lance of his younger brother, which causes Lance to tear up, so he excuses himself and does his best to choke back tears in the bathroom.

When he emerges, he thanks the woman for her hospitality. “Thanks for letting me stay for the evening,” he says.

“Oh, no problem,” she smiles. “Where you are headed to next?”

Lance feels a lump form in his throat. He hasn’t thought this far ahead yet - where _is_ he going to go next? He doesn’t have enough money to stay here forever. He also doesn’t want to take advantage of this woman’s house and amenities.

So he lies.

“I’m on my way home from, uh, visiting a friend,” he responds.

The truth is, Lance’s actual home is all the way across the country, on the coast, a distance much too far for him to cover with the few items he possesses.

“If for any reason you need to stop again before you reach your destination,” the lady says, “there’s a cafe about twenty miles away, and a city a few more miles from there.”

“It’s the best cafe in the whole wide world!” Evan exclaims with a mouth full of bread.

“Thank you,” Lance says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He heads out on the road again, adrenaline rushing through his system as he tries to figure out where he should go. Walking twenty miles in one day doesn’t sound too harrowing, he’s been on excruciatingly long hikes with his family when they visit the mountains every year. But three hours in and Lance is beginning to question his stamina. He has less than half of his water left, and the day has grown unusually warm, leaving him to deal with beads of sweat that are slipping down his forehead.

Lance remembers the cafe that the B&B lady mentioned earlier, and decides that that’s the best course of action at this point. However, he’s only walked about seven miles since this morning, which means that if he’s going in the right direction, he has thirteen more miles to go. Which would literally kill him if he continued the rest of the way on foot.

After a long hour of attempting to get someone - _anyone_ \- on the road to pull over, a dark green SUV finally stops for Lance. The driver’s window rolls down and the face of a strikingly pretty girl in her late teens comes into view. “Need a ride?” she chirps.

“Yeah… that’d be great,” Lance says, as she leans over to open the passenger seat door.

He climbs into the car, which has a roomy interior and dark leather seats. It smells vaguely of cigarette smoke, but he tries not to think much of it.

“So where do you want to go?” the girl asks.

“Um, I actually don’t know,” Lance replies honestly.

She gives him a strange look. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Well, there’s a cafe that’s apparently several miles from here that I want to visit, but I don’t have the name of it, or the address,” he explains.

“Oh, I know the place you’re talking about,” the girl perks up. “It’s a cute little place called Cafe de la Luz, which means -”

“Cafe of Light,” Lance translates.

The girl is impressed. “You sure know your Spanish,” she notes.

“My family is Cuban,” Lance responds, grinning. “We speak it all the time at home.”

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” she says. “I wish I was bilingual, but sadly I only know about three words in French. I’m Nyma, by the way.”

“My name’s Lance.”

The two drive in silence for a long time, unsure of what to say to one another. The quiet starts to get to Lance, so he asks Nyma if she could turn on some music. She unlocks her phone and tells Lance to choose one of her Spotify playlists to listen to. He flips through them (and there are at least a dozen), and to his disappointment, almost every single one of them is country music. There’s no cell reception in the area that they’re currently passing through, so he can’t search for any tunes more to his taste. Lance eventually finds one called “GET HYPED”, which _doesn’t_ consist completely of country music, and presses Shuffle.

At first, Lance isn’t sure if he likes the playlist, since most of the songs are alt-rock, and he’s more of a pop-type of guy. But soon he feels himself tapping his feet to the beat, and his face breaks into a small smile as Nyma bobs her head and sings along.

“What’s this one called?” Lance asks, as a catchy guitar riff plays.

“ ‘Never Know’ by Set It Off,” Nyma replies, swaying back and forth.

Lance grins at her. Something about the way she talks and immerses herself in the music is spellbinding, and her singing voice carries itself straight into Lance’s heart. Not only that, but, _damn_ , she’s beautiful.

_Oh boy._

The playlist wraps up as they pull up at the cafe. Lance stays in his seat for a few moments after Nyma stops the car, playing with his fingers and shooting glances at her.

“This is your stop,” she says, when he doesn’t make a move to get out of the car.

Lance snaps out of it. “Oh, r-right… thanks so much,” he mutters, unbuckling himself and unlatching the door. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out ten dollars.

“Aw, hey, you don’t have to pay me,” Nyma says. “Consider the ride a gift.”

“You sure?”

“Of course,” she replies, leaning closer.

Lance’s heart races. What is she doing?

“I enjoyed driving with you,” Nyma says, the distance between their faces now less than two inches apart.

“I did as well,” Lance says. Is she trying to -

Nyma moves closer and kisses him. Her lips are soft and pink and taste of vanilla, which makes Lance melt. But then it occurs to him that he’s making out with a perfect stranger who he will probably never see again, and the kiss suddenly loses its worth.

“I gotta go now,” Lance tells her when they break apart. “Thank you again for the ride, it helped me out a whole lot.”

“Anytime, handsome.”

He gets out of the car, his heart reeling. Nyma gives him a small solute and a wide grin before speeding off down the highway.

Lance sighs and lets his eyes follow the SUV until it’s completely out of sight. When he’s finally gathered himself, he strides into the cafe, the bell on the door jingling merrily as he steps inside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kiss perfect strangers, kids
> 
> also, lance and keith will most likely meet in the next chapter.
> 
> P.S.- Set It Off is a really good band so if you don't listen to them, you should :)))


	5. Keith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is sort of wild lmao plz enjoy
> 
> also, slight trigger warning: there is mention of blood and someone getting killed, so if that's something you're uncomfortable with, i'll leave a chapter summary in the notes at the end :)

There’s nothing like speeding down a country road in a stolen pickup truck, windows rolled all the way down and music blaring.

Keith can’t remember the last time he’s felt this euphoric, or this free. He is finally independent, away from his father’s grasp, and as long as he’s careful not to leave traces of his whereabouts, no one will ever be able to find him. It’s the start of something new, something Keith has been dreaming about for a long, long time.

He tilts his head back and howls over the music and the sound of the wind whipping at his hair. There is no one to tell him no, no one to control his actions, no one to force him to go to school, no one to criticize him ever again. The thought of what he’s going to do with the rest of the day (and the rest of his life) doesn’t really cross his mind, but when it does, he assures himself that he’ll tackle things one problem at a time, that there’s no use in worrying.

An hour and a half into the drive, Keith realizes he’s growing hungry. He nibbles on some of the snacks, but the food he brought is all junk food, and it won’t keep his stomach satisfied for long. He’s going to need a proper meal if he wants to get through today.

He pulls over at a rest stop to look at a map. Fortunately, there’s a cafe only a couple miles away, and although it’s not Keith’s first choice for food, it’s the closest one there is. There _is_ a city further west of the cafe, but Keith isn’t sure he’s ready to brave an urban environment just yet.

Keith decides to make the most of the rest stop while he’s there, so he goes inside to use the bathroom, then buys himself a large case of water bottles (to stay hydrated), a pack of mint-flavored Ice Breakers (to keep his breath fresh), and a lighter (because why the hell not). The truck’s gas tank is still doing reasonably well, so he doesn’t bother to spend more money on fuel.

Keith hits the road again, turning his music up louder than before. He gets a few dirty looks from other drivers on the road, who can hear the music with their windows rolled all the way up, but he just laughs and flips them off.

He arrives at the cafe, which looks just as he’d expected, and a bit more. It’s called Cafe de la Luz; Keith has no idea what that means, and he doesn’t plan on finding out. The concrete building is fairly small, with blue leather booths and tables that look like they’re straight out of a 1950s diner. The walls are lined with old film photos, and the tile floor is chipping. There aren’t many customers, just a young couple chattering in a corner, and a boy about Keith’s age with dark brown hair and a jacket whose pockets are bulging at the seams.

Keith sits down and orders himself a hot chocolate and a breakfast burrito (because screw the fact that it’s intended to be eaten at breakfast). He’s a lot more hungry than he thought, and promptly devours his meal, leaving him exhausted and full.

He is in the middle of giving his credit card to the hostess at the cash register when two startling things happen at once: the power in the whole cafe shuts down, and a figure in a grey ski mask comes barging into the cafe, wielding a gun.

When the average person thinks of a pleasant dining experience, they think of sitting around a table, chatting with their friends and family, and enjoying a great buffet of food.

They do not usually think of getting ambushed by an intruder with a murder weapon.

Keith drops his credit card on the counter and stares wide-eyed at the masked figure. The only other time he’s seen mysterious masked people is in film and television, and he never thought he’d have to encounter one of them in person.

The masked figure waves his knife around for a few moments before going up to the dark-haired boy in the jacket. The intruder towers over the teenager, giving him a menacing look. “ _You_ ,” the masked figure barks in a low, gravelly voice, revealing that it is a man. He points the barrel of the pistol straight at the boy’s throat. “Give me your money.”

Keith stands frozen in horror as scene unfolds. The cashier is making a move to call 911, but the masked figure notices her and a shot rings out as one of his bullets strikes the main light fixture. Glass shards rain down on the cafe, one of which scrapes against Keith’s hand.

“If I see anyone else moving, this one gets his brains splattered against the wall,” the intruder announces. He turns back towards the boy and mutters something Keith can’t hear.

“I don’t have what you want,” the boy replies, in a sturdy voice that tries to cover up his anxiousness.

“Don’t lie to me,” the masked figure growls, grabbing his jacket and pulling him closer. “You’re here in a cafe with food right in front of you, you’ve gotta have money with you.” He pauses. “Unless you’re stealing…”

“I’m not stealing!” the boy shouts.

“Then hand over your _fucking money,_ or I’ll kill you and everyone else here.” The intruder cocks the gun and places a finger over the trigger.

Keith doesn’t know what it is that prompts it into his brain, but the words of the lady at the Denny’s suddenly come flooding back to him.

_Take the time to practice some compassion._

Keith has never been someone to actively go out of his way and help someone in need, but this is a life or death situation, and he can’t just stand around doing nothing. He might get a bullet to the head in the process, but at this point, that doesn’t really matter. If the boy doesn’t give in to the robbery, then he, Keith, and everyone else in the cafe will be dead.

Keith sighs, making up his mind. He might be too far gone to help his father, but maybe he can start anew with somebody else.

The intruder’s back is still facing him, so he creeps up behind him and taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, you.”

The masked figure whirls around, and for a split second Keith glares into his murky brown eyes. Then he lifts his arm and punches the man straight in the jaw.

The blow doesn’t knock out the masked figure completely, but he is caught off guard enough for Keith to swipe the gun from his grasp. He brandishes the weapon with his fingers hovering over the trigger.

“Get the _fuck_ back, you sick, twisted dickwad!” Keith orders.

The masked figure slowly gets to his feet, wincing. “You wouldn’t dare,” he sneers when he notices his weapon being used against him.

“Then you quite underestimate me,” Keith snaps back. He tightens his grip on the gun.

“You can’t even hold the gun correctly,” the masked figure points out. “You know nothing about how firearms work.”

The power flickers back on.

“Well, good thing I’m a quick learner,” Keith snarls. He peers to his left and notices the cashier has snuck into the back to phone the police. “Now beat it before the cops get here.”

“... _no._ ”

The following few seconds happen in slow motion. Keith has never shot a gun before in his life, and his aim when it comes to generally hitting things is pretty terrible, but both of those factors are forgotten as the intruder lunges and Keith pulls the trigger.

A shot rings out, and Keith watches in horror as the masked figure collapses to the ground, blood pouring out from his chest. He writhes in pain for a moment, then goes into shock and passes out.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fu_

Keith slumps against the wall, eyes wide and heart thumping. Blood spreads out across the tiled floor, seeping into the cracks and under the tables. Keith doesn’t know exactly where he shot the intruder, but from the lack of breathing coming from the body on the floor it seems that he is dead.

The sound of the cashier hanging up the phone in the back reminds Keith that the police are on their way - and if they catch him here, he’ll be arrested on the spot, and then his freedom will be gone. He’ll be taken back to the trailer, where he’ll have to face his father, and that is nothing he is willing to give into. Not ever.

Keith tucks the gun into his jacket pocket and prepares to make a run for it, when he realizes that the boy in the jacket with bulging pockets is standing there in upset, his face and clothes covered in blood. In the back of Keith’s mind, he knows that he can’t leave the other boy here, soaked in crimson from head to toe; if he does, the boy will be the one getting arrested, and then saving him in the first place would have all been for nothing.

_Fucking hell._

“Come on,” Keith calls to him, motioning for the other boy to follow him.

“What?” the boy cries. “With _you?_ ”

“You’re coated in the dude’s blood, do you _want_ to be charged with murder?” Keith shoots back.

The boy’s eyes widen as he processes what will happen to him if he stays. Then he leaps over the dead body and frantically follows Keith to the pickup truck.

“This is insane this is insane this is _fucking insane_ ,” the boy mutters as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Will you just buckle up so that we can get the fuck out of here?” Keith shouts, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Fuck seatbelts,” the boy replies. “Just drive!”

Keith shakes his head. “Alright, but it’s not my fault if you get catapulted through the windshield.”

He slams his foot on the gas, and they drive off down the highway, just as the wail of police sirens approaches in the distance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very brief chapter summary: keith hits the road to freedom and decides to stop at the same cafe that lance does (even though he doesn't know it); a dude in a mask with a gun barges into the cafe and threatens lance if he doesn't hand over his money. keith decides to be a good person for once and kills the intruder to save lance, and then they escape from the cafe as the police are arriving. and that's basically it
> 
> Follow me on instagram if you want to see what else i do besides write fanfic @grayskyluna :)


	6. Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lance and keith deal with the aftermath of their actions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry if the writing in this chapter is sort of iffy, i've been really busy and occupied with other stuff~ hoping to get back into the swing of this story soon, though!!
> 
> enjoy <3

It takes Lance several minutes to process what just happened back at the cafe as he’s riding in a vehicle with yet another total stranger.

Getting threatened with a gun was terrifying. Watching a man get killed and die of exsanguination was even worse.

And having to get into a car with the murderer - possibly the scariest thing in the world.

Lance knows he had no choice - after all, he’s covered in blood and if he’d hung around much longer he would’ve gotten arrested on the spot. He never thought in his life that he’d have to witness a murder right before his very eyes. But lo and behold, that very event just happened, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

Lance has always been sensitive to violence. As a kid he flinched at anything mildly brutal on TV, and he still winces whenever he sees someone get smacked. When he or his siblings acted out in front of their grandparents, their grandfather would occasionally whack them over the head with his newspaper. If mild acts of violence make Lance shudder, he sure as hell can’t handle witnessing a shooting, a mere four feet away from him.

Lance steals a look over at the stranger in the driver’s seat, the same stranger who’d shot and killed someone to save his life. The boy’s in his late teens, probably Lance’s age, with light-honey colored skin and messy raven-black hair. The scowl on his face makes him seem quite intimidating, and for the first twenty minutes of being on the road with him, Lance is afraid to speak.

They rush down the highway in the direction they came, trying to get as far away from civilization as possible. The gray-blue sky melts into the yellow of the dried-out plains, creating an odd shade of green where the two met on the horizon. Lance isn’t sure how he’s able to pay attention to the environment out the window, when his mind is still desperately trying to get itself together.

Finally, Lance plucks up the courage to talk. “So um… thanks for saving me back there.”

The other boy gives a monotone “Mmm,” his eyes glued to the road.

“I mean it. I could’ve died.”

“Well to be fair, we _all_ could’ve died,” the boy points out, in a slightly aggressive tone. “But sure, whatever. No problem.”

Lance nods. “He didn’t get away with my money, though, so I’m pretty grateful for that.” He traces his fingers along the remaining ten dollars left that are sitting in his pocket.

“Yeah, I suppose you got lucky…” the other boy trails off for a moment, looking like he’s deep in thought - then his face suddenly becomes very, very panicked.

“What’s the matter?” Lance asks.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_ , holy _fuck_ ,” the boy shouts, slamming his hands on the wheel.

“What’s the matter??” Lance repeats, frowning.

“I left my credit card at the cafe. Fuck, it’s not even mine, it’s my dad’s. That means the police can _literally_ trace whose card it is, which will take it to my dad, and by now my dad knows that I’ve stolen the truck so all obvious signs will be pointing to _me_ , and-”

“Whoa, slow down, start from the beginning!” Lance shouts. He looks around the highway and spots an exit a few hundred feet away. “Pull off over there and let’s figure this out.”

Groaning, the other boy follows Lance’s directions and gets off at the exit, then finds a secluded area of trees in which he can stop the truck.

“You _stole this truck_ ?” Lance squawks, as the engine dies down. He feels his brain slowly going crazy. “You took your father’s _credit card_ ? And on top of all that, you _killed_ a man?? Who in the world do you think you are, man?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!” the stranger retorts. He turns to face Lance, and Lance quietly gasps as he notices the bright vermillion burn mark on the boy’s left cheek. (Lance makes a mental note to ask him about it later.) “I didn’t _plan_ on killing a guy, y’know.”

“Yeah, well, you _did,_ and now we gotta decide what the hell we’re going to do next,” Lance replies. He looks away. “I can’t believe I got into a car with a murderer,” he murmurs to himself.

“What we’re going to _first_ , before anything else,” the other boy huffs, jumping out of the truck, “is burn the hell out of your clothes. They’re covered in dry blood and that’s the primary indicator that we’ve been involved with a murder.”

Lance feels a wave of nervousness rush into his system. He looks down at the bloodstained jacket, his one and only good luck charm since he was fourteen. Call it superstition, but Lance had strongly believed that nothing could go wrong for him while he was wearing it. For the most part, he was correct.

Except for when it came to bullies. As well as getting family Christmas presents that he actually asked for.

And, of course, today.

Okay, so maybe the jacket is not as lucky as he’d hoped.

“Uhh, can’t the stains just, like, come out in the wash?” Lance inquires, hoping he doesn’t sound too pathetic.

“The blood’s been on there for way too long,” the other boy calls in reply, taking out a lighter. “Easier to just get rid of the jacket instead of having to worry.”

“You’re willing to just… destroy all that I’m wearing right now?” Lance spits, clambering out of the truck himself. He follows the boy to a nearby clearing in the woods, where the boy uses the lighter to set a small patch of the forest floor on fire. “You don’t even know me! You have no idea what sort of emotional value these things hold to me!”

“And protecting these values is more important to you than being sent to jail for the rest of your young adult career?”

“ _You_ were the one that killed him, not _me!_ ” Lance shouted. “If anything, _you’re_ the one who has to worry about getting sent to jail.”

“I can handle myself,” the boy snaps, pocketing the lighter.

Lance glares at him for a few moments. “Why are you even helping me?” he asks.

No answer.

“Tell me why, or I’m keeping my bloodstained clothes.”

The boy heaves a reluctant sigh. “I’m… I’m trying to be a better person,” he answers quickly.

Lance nods. “Trying to be better by killing someone and then running away from the police, sounds about right,” he says sarcastically. “What’s your name?”

The boy scowls. “I answered the damn question, follow through with your end of the bargain!” he says.

“What’s your name, _asshole_?” Lance presses.

“...Keith,” the boy replies, just loud enough for Lance to hear. He stares at him. “What’s yours?”

“Lance.”

“Great, we got _that_ out of the way. Now get rid of your clothes before someone notices the fire.”

“Okay, _Keith_ ,” Lance drones, beginning to take off his jacket, “I surely hope you have another set of clothes with you, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

“You’d really think I’d be making you strip near-naked in a forest if I didn’t have any other clothes with me?” Keith asks in disgust. “Is that really how bad you think I am?”

“Maybe. I met you less than an hour ago, for all I know you could be a rapist or something.”

Keith gives an exasperated look but doesn’t say anything.

Lance continues peeling off his clothes until he’s standing in only his underwear, socks, and shoes. The air is chilly against his skin and he feels more vulnerable than he’s ever felt before. He sincerely hopes that Keith isn’t planning on turning on him and assaulting him. “Okay, so, where’s that change of clothes you promised?”

Keith shoves his hands into his pockets and smirks. “Um, about that-”

“Wait, are you serious?” Lance interrupts, his eyes growing huge. “You didn’t actually bring an extra change of clothes, did you!”

“No-no-no, I _did_ , I’m just messing with you,” Keith says hurriedly, trying - and failing - to suppress a chuckle.

Lance frowns, unable to tell if it’s a mean or friendly chuckle, so he gives the other boy a deadpanned look. “Fuck you, man.”

Keith merely flashes a wide grin, then ambles back to the truck to retrieve the clothes.

The late-afternoon sky is turning a peculiar shade of gold, matching the fire that is blazing on the forest floor. Lance stands there in his underwear, gazing mournfully at his old wardrobe which is now burning and curling into black shreds of fabric. A tower of smoke swirls from the fire and drifts high into the air, making Lance realize that somebody could probably spot them from the road over.

They’ll have to be extra-careful to cover up their tracks.

Keith soon returns with the clothes and an unopened water bottle. He hurls the clothes at Lance, who barely manages to catch the bundle, then proceeds to put out the fire with the water.

“ ‘My Chemical Romance’?” Lance asks dubiously, reading the lettering on the crew-neck sweater in his hands. The skinny jeans and tshirt are the same color as the sweater: ink black with not a trace of color other than white. “Geez, you’re more stereotypically emo than I thought.”

“They’re a good band!” Keith retorts, as he begins burying the remains of the fire under some sticks and leaves. “ _Danger Days_ is the best album ever.” He looks up. “Don’t tell me you’ve never listened to MCR.”

Lance shrugs. Some of his buddies from Year Two at boarding school listened to the band, and from time to time Lance would hear their music drifting through the walls as he tried to sleep. Most of the songs he heard weren’t to his taste, but there were a few here and there that he found himself enjoying. “Not really,” he replies.

Keith clucks his tongue. “You’re missing out big-time, dude.”

Lance throws on the clothes. The pants are too tight to be considered pleasant, which is really unfortunate, but the shirt seems to fit well; suddenly Lance wishes he had a mirror. The MCR sweater is surprisingly soft and smells slightly of cinnamon, which is unexpected, and oddly comforting.  

Once the remnants of the fire have been completely concealed, they get back on the road. It’s now early evening, and the sky is streaked with blue and purple tones that Lance can’t take his eyes off of. It reminds him of the color of his bedroom back on the coast, and he turns away from Keith as he fights back the tears in his eyes and the lurch of homesickness in his stomach. 

“So… I sort of forgot to ask before we left, but where am I taking you?” Keith asks cautiously.

Lance quickly wipes his face and clears his throat. “I dunno.”

“You _don’t know_?” Keith frowns.

“Hey, I could be asking you the exact same question, Mr. I-stole-my-dad’s-car-and-credit-card-and-then-decided-to-murder-somebody,” Lance retorts, crossing his arms.

Keith looks out the window. “Okay, so we’re essentially in the same boat,” he says quietly.

Lance nods. “Yeah… hey dude, you know what this means?”

“What?”

“We can do anything we want. Literally _anything_. Nobody’s stopping us.”

Keith stares at him. Lance can’t tell if Keith is confused, scared, or overwhelmed. Probably all of the above. “Thank you, Captain Obvious, I had no idea,” he says, exasperation creeping into his voice.

“So what do you want to do?” Lance asks.

“Well, there’s a city a few miles away…” Keith replies thoughtfully. “We can go there and find a place to crash for the night. Sound okay?”

“Sure thing.”

Keith turns the truck around, and they speed towards the mass of buildings in the distance. Lance watches as the daylight slips from the sky, the environment around them transforming into tones of blue and purple. It’s the most relaxing thing he’s experienced in a long time, and he begins to think that running away isn’t really a terrible idea after all.  He can get used to the independence, the silence, the unlimited freedom.

Little does he know, today’s events are nothing compared to what’s to come. Lance and Keith are in the calm before the storm, and sooner or later, the storm is bound to catch up with them and destroy their futures forever.

 


End file.
